Weekly Roundup: I Never Wanted To Get This High Edition
https://youtu.be/zoxzCcsxXQA?t=403
How real is Julia Nilon's reaction to acapella singer Tim Foust, particularly the thirty or so seconds following the spot at which I've set the video to start? I'm thinking it's not entirely real. YouTube "reaction videos" are a massively popular genre, and Tim Foust reaction videos are a reasonably popular sub-genre. In particular, there are quite a few YouTube videos where women appear to experience some sort of physical ecstasy as a result of hearing Foust hit some very low notes. Still, I suspect there's at least a kernel of truth in Nilon's response, because it seems both human and genuine.
One of my readers posted a link earlier this week that led me down a Substack rabbit hole ending in a rant about women and Tim Foust. I wish I could find it; alas, my browser crashed on Adobe Analytics and killed any memory it had of that link. If you recognize what I'm talking about, put it in the comments and I'll edit, because I hate referring to other writers without proper attribution.
(Aside: I've been told that Matt "Fatty" Yglesias is making $770,000 a year on Substack from 9,800 subscribers. I'd be happy with a small fraction of that. Maybe I should go on Substack.)
Anyway, the Substacker in question was trying to make the point that women have always lusted, and will continue to lust, for "real men" who display certain "real man" tendencies, such as an exceptionally low voice. Which got me thinking, because a low voice is something that I don't have.
Scratch that.
It's something I got rid of.
Kinda.
Let's address the mystery-Substacker's comment/complaint first. He was trying to make the point that society can't really force women to have interest in the so-called "soy boys" who make the "Nintendo Switch Face" about everything. This is a real issue for the next generation because from what I've seen, society can force, or at least heavily incentivize, young men to become "soy boys". This afternoon my son and I went street riding at a local college campus and over the course of an hour or so I only saw one young man whom I could describe as "conventionally masculine" or, to use the current phrase, "Chad-like" in any way, shape, or form. Okay, it was Ohio Wesleyan, not Alabama or Texas A&M, but I've been riding my bike around there since 2001 or so and I've seen in real time how we have taken the starch out of our young men, at least visually.
The Internet has known for a few years that women are more interested in Chads than in soyboys when they are ovulating, although the second result of that linked study tends to get lost in the weeds; ovulating women are more interested both in overt masculinity and facial symmetry. It makes sense. Their physical selves are gene-shopping. Matty Yglesias might be able to get $770k out of Substack, but a quick look at his face suggests that he's not going to get a dime's worth of interest from ovulating women, being both non-masculine in appearance and somewhat lopsided. The prehistoric human inside all women (and all men) doesn't want to waste nine months and a chance of dying during the delivery just to carry those genes. Masculinity in a partner suggests the ability to protect, plus a strong child; symmetry suggests health. Duh.
Long-time RG readers are probably aware that my greatest unfulfilled wish is to be handsome. I was born ugly and have gotten uglier. Combined with my odd proportions and reasonable height, this is often useful; rarely am I bothered by anyone in public for any reason, nor am I ever confronted by anyone who is not under the influence of substances. Just as often, however, it is fatal: to my career, to my relationships, to my chances of getting what I want in this world. I'm not even sure exactly what is wrong with my face; as with the SsangYong Rodius, it might just be that it is all terrible.
Oh well. As crosses go, it is bearable. Things could be worse. I could be both ugly and short. Still, there are times in my life -- like the time a woman whom I loved desperately told me that she "had a physical response" upon meeting certain attractive men -- when I really feel it. I'd like to get those Julia-Nilon-style responses from women, you know. But it won't happen from the way I look. Nor is my voice going to get it done for me, and that is at least partially my fault rather than the fault of genetics.
The story goes something like this. As a singer I'm a tenor with a few baritone notes; twenty years ago I could cover the full baritone range and go above tenor. (I can still cover every note of most Kevin Mahogany tunes, for example, such as this one.) In my teen years I had a middle-of-the-road speaking voice. As a young adult, I got into some trouble for... well, let's call it pulling the tags off mattresses. To reassure friends, strangers, and employers that my, ahem, unauthorized mattress-tag removal days were over, I have adopted an artifical tone of chipper cheer that involves me speaking a little higher and more quickly than I'm naturally inclined to do. Not Tom Selleck high, but high enough.
It's been a remarkably effective vocal trick and many has been the time when I've watched someone's natural suspicion and worry about me (due to my hideous appearance and history of mattress-tag removal) dissipate once they hear how friendly and approachable I sound. But let me tell you -- the ladies do not dig it. They'd rather hear my natural vocal range. This has led to all sorts of unintentionally hilarious situations where I have been sitting at dinner or at a social event with a man on one side of me and a woman on the other, using two completely different voices at the same time depending on which direction my head is turned.
I can probably let this semi-charade go. The Marshall Project states that
Research by American social scientists shows that all but the most exceptional criminals, even violent ones, mature out of lawbreaking before middle age, meaning that long sentences do little to prevent crime... Property criminals, like burglars and car thieves, tend to stop in their 20s, while violent criminals are more likely to continue into their early 30s.
This suggests that at my advanced age I am no longer likely to remove any mattress tags before those mattresses are delivered to the seller -- although if I were to ever actually be a criminal I hope I would be an "exceptional criminal" -- and therefore no longer need to reassure anyone of my harmless, approachable status. So today I put on that Tim Foust track and tried singing along with it. No dice. Can get some of it, but it doesn't sound clean or natural. I'm going to need a vocal coach, a lot of practice, and maybe the Isaac Hayes Eldorado before I can get even in the neighborhood of Tim Foust. But when I do... Julia Nilon, look out!
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For Hagerty, I wrote about the next STi that will never be and a Chrysler Aspen that never was.